


An Ode to Eames's Nipples (Comment fic)

by eternalsojourn



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Nipple Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-21
Updated: 2011-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-24 20:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsojourn/pseuds/eternalsojourn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur won't accept Eames's dismissal of his own assets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Ode to Eames's Nipples (Comment fic)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://eamesie.livejournal.com/217229.html?thread=5600397).

Eames looks down, amused, at where Arthur’s hand has slips under Eames’s arm from behind in what is presumably supposed to be an affectionate hug, but instead sees Arthur’s fingers rubbing over the bump of Eames’s nipple through his soft old t-shirt.

Suddenly forgetting what he was even looking for in the fridge, Eames turns and Arthur’s hand drops away in favour of wrapping his arms around Eames’s waist.

“They’re just nipples, darling. Slightly too prominent, showing rather too much through my shirts, but otherwise, just average nipples,” he says, stroking a thumb down Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur gives Eames a very serious look, the one he gets when he’s about to explain something he feels people already ought to know. “No. These,” Arthur scratches at his own chest, “are average nipples. Flat, not very sensitive. These,” he gently strokes his fingers over both of Eames’s nubs, “are worthy of attention. You see?” He looks at where he’s stroking, then up into Eames’s eyes.

Eames shakes his head. “What am I supposed to be seeing, exactly?”

Arthur huffs a fond but long-suffering sigh. He slides his hands up under Eames’s shirt and gently rolls his fingers until Eames’s nipples begin to stiffen slightly. “You see, mine don’t react like this. You — you keep your poker face pretty much all the time. But these never lie.” He lifts the material up, revealing one pink nub, and bends down to kiss it tenderly.

“You know,” Eames says, resting his hand warmly on Arthur’s neck and scratching through the back of his hair. “I used to dread physical education, lest I be called on to be ‘skins’. I was the only boy with breasts. You can imagine my horror.” His tone is light, but carefully so.

Arthur looks up, something soft in his eyes. “Well, you don’t get to hide them from me,” he says, then smiles, wolfish and bites down gently. Eames helpfully tugs his shirt off completely and tries to pull off Arthur’s shirt, but Arthur doesn’t let him, batting Eames’s hands away lightly while palms Eames’s ribs and flicks his tongue across the now fully hard rosebud of his nipple. He worries it a little, gripping a good bit of skin and pulling; Eames grips his fist tighter in Arthur’s hair in response but doesn’t pull him off.

“Indeed, I think you’d hurt me if I tried. And while that might hold a certain appeal in some situations, I find it usually to my advantage to let you have what you want,” Eames says, voice tightening when Arthur nips sharply with his teeth. “At least at first.”

Arthur moves to the other side, rubbing a firm fingertip in circles through the slick spit on the one he’s just left, feeling it pebble further as the wetness cools in the air. He pulls off, saliva stretching to join them before breaking, falling on Arthur’s chin and Eames’s chest. “What’s it like?” he asks. “Mine don’t feel much, but yours are so responsive. Does it feel nice?”

Eames hums, reaching down to rub himself a little through his jeans.

“Would you want me to do it harder?” Arthur presses, standing straight and speaking softly, lips brushing Eames’s jaw. He pinches one nipple hard, not hard enough to really hurt — just testing. He presses his hips in, pushing his clothed erection against the back of Eames’s hand.

“Maybe,” Eames admits. “Not at first.” He rubs himself firmer, hand trapped between their hips. “Maybe after we’ve been teasing each other a while. If you’re patient enough to wait until I’m gagging for it.”

“You’re always gagging for it,” Arthur laughs. “But I can do that,” he says, a simple statement of fact. Eames knows Arthur is already planning, probably an entire evening where he’ll make sure there’s plenty of time to take Eames apart properly.

In the meantime Arthur just slides his hand down Eames’s stomach, following the trail of hair down over his navel and undoes his own trousers first before freeing Eames’s cock.

For a moment they just breathe each other’s air, hard, hot pricks pressing together. Then Arthur licks his palm and reaches between them, wrapping around both together and squeezing. His other hand finds its way to Eames’s chest, scraping his nails through Eames’s chest hair before rolling one hard nub between his thumb and forefinger. He kisses Eames then for the first time since starting this little game, deeply; the play of it is dropped, because when Arthur really means to kiss someone, he makes sure they are good and thoroughly kissed. It rouses Eames’s own hunger and his breathing deepens in a heartbeat, his tongue finding Arthur’s to slide and twirl against, a complex dance of advance and retreat that almost threatens to take his attention away from what else Arthur is doing.

But not quite enough because Arthur strokes them firmly and leans his weight on Eames, crowding him against the refrigerator. He’s pulsing his hips as though he’s fucking Eames, and Eames is doing the same. It’s frustrating and not enough, but exquisite for all that it lacks because this is Arthur seeing something he wants and taking it, location and rapidly approaching appointments be damned.

So with Arthur kissing like he’s found his calling, and squeezing and rocking faster, Eames finds himself at his crest but before he can come, Arthur groans, long and low. Suddenly their cocks slide together, coated and slippery and Eames is agonizingly eased back from the brink.

Eames’s head thumps back onto the refrigerator as Arthur sinks to his knees, enveloping Eames’s wet cock in his mouth. Arthur makes it tight, and seems to be sliding his tongue around trying to lick his own come off Eames’s shaft. So it’s short moments before Eames is bucking, trying to keep his hips from forcing himself down Arthur’s throat. Arthur stays clamped on, swallowing down Eames’s come with a satisfied hum, somehow looking smug and smiling around Eames’s girth.

When Arthur stands, he stops to lick and then playfully nip at Eames’s nipple before stealing a last kiss.

“We have to get changed and get going,” he murmurs against Eames’s mouth. “But I won’t forget we’re revisiting this.”

Eames laughs. “Of course you won’t,” and licks an errant streak of come from the corner of Arthur’s mouth.

**End**


End file.
